Mad World
by DemonSurfer
Summary: He is alone in the desert, and the desert will kill him.
1. Mad World

**A/N: **Honestly? I don't know where this came from. It just sort of... happened. This is the first chapter of either six or seven, so don't run away just because it doesn't make much sense. It will, promise.

There are two mechs in the character filter. The narrator is one of them.

Thank you to **Cyanide and Insomnia** for beta'ing this for me.

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><p>He is in the desert.<p>

And the dead are all around him

There are no buildings here, nor have there ever been. No one has ever traveled to this place, one of a thousand identical patches of hard-packed earth in this barren land. No one has flown above it in the pale sky, to look down and see that he and the dead are here. No one knows that this place exists, should exist, may exist.

It does not exist.

And yet he and the dead are here.

They are in haphazard piles, the dead. Mechs and femmes interlocked and overlapped and smashed together in funeral mounds. The stacks are over his head and meld together across the ground, as if the dead are trying to reach one another. Trying to comfort one another even after they no longer live. He cannot move without stepping on them, and the creak of weathered metal is loud in the stillness of the desert. Some of the bodies are no more than a fragile shell of rust that collapses as soon as he brushes a hand against them. Others are recent, so recent that the paint is still vibrant and new and he could almost believe that they are not dead and merely asleep.

But he cannot lie to himself.

Their faces are twisted into various expressions of agony and hatred and sadness and anger. Some are missing optics or parts of their face. Others are missing limbs. Holes torn into torsos to expose essential equipment and wires and mechanisms. All of the bodies have damage done to them, and thus he cannot lie to himself.

He is surrounded by the dead.

In his hands is a sparkling, still in its grey protoform. He cannot tell if its body is warm or cold. Its optics are shuttered and its mouth is open slightly, a peaceful expression on its tiny face. It appears to be asleep.

It is dead.

The sun overhead is hot and heavy on his shoulders, and the glare off of the dead around him hurts his optics. The small lifeless body in his hands is heavy, heavier than it should be, but he will not put it down. Something is telling him that he is should leave this place, that there is somewhere he should be. He takes a step forward, and the dead underfoot crunch and creak and collapse.

The desert will kill him. He knows this, and yet he takes another step forward. The sun is too hot, too close, and the sands are soft outside of this place. He will overheat, or sink into the ground, never to be seen again. The sparkling in his hands is heavy, but he continues to carry it. He cannot put it down.

Where he is going he is not needed, or even wanted. Where he has left is the same. There is no place for him in this place that does not exist. There is no place for him in the place that does exist. But he has a job to do, or so his spark says, and he must move forward. Whatever happens to him is not important. He is a facilitator, a bridge. He helps the ones that are important, and his personal feelings do not matter.

He is alone, in this place that does not exist. The dead are here, and the sand beneath his pedes, and the hot angry sun overhead. He cannot tell if the sparkling in his hands is hot or cold, and it is dead. The funeral piles are behind him, too far and yet too close, and he sinks a little further into the sand with every step.

Something in the desert is calling him, and he must answer that call. He is not needed or wanted, but he must follow. He is afraid to find out what may happen if he does not.

He is in the desert.

And the desert will kill him.


	2. Radio Ga Ga

Blaster groaned as the soft chime of an internal alarm woke him up. It was way too slagging early to be awake. The "ass-crack of dawn" as the soldiers at the base liked to call it, and for a moment he entertained the notion of just going back into recharge. It wasn't as if he was essential to the base's morning routine. Maybe if he just shuttered his optics and lay back down...

The squeal of metal against metal jolted him back into alertness, and he was immediately upright and facing towards the source of the noise. One hand had moved to grab his weapon before he remembered that he no longer had a weapon. He hadn't carried one in years.

"Rise n' shine, robot!"

With his optics set for the low light in the former aircraft hanger Blaster could easily see the rather unwelcome figure silhouetted against the human-sized doorway. His lip threatened to curl into a dismissive sneer, but he quickly changed the motion into that of a friendly smile.

"Hey there Abernathy! What's shakin'?"

The military officer snorted. "That's Lieutenant Colonel Abernathy to you, robot," he said dismissively, turning to leave the hanger. "Now move your ass. I want to see you in the communications tower by oh-seven hundred."

Blaster sighed as Abernathy left. He had been stationed at the base for nearly two Earth years now and the Lt. Colonel _still_ refused to call him by name. It wasn't as if he could be mixed up with any other Transformers as he was the only one assigned to that particular base.

Well, there was no helping it. If his 'supreme highness' had lowered himself enough to ensure that the lowly alien communications officer was awake, he might as well humor the man and actually get up. A quick stretch to realign gears and muscle cables and he was on his feet.

A wave of dizziness suddenly swept through him, and he had to brace one hand on the berth as his vision fuzzed into static. His audios briefly cut out, and for a moment all he could hear was a dull roar of internal systems working too hard. Then the moment was over, and Blaster shook his head as he stood upright again. That was... disconcerting. He immediately ran a self-diagnostic program to locate any problems in his CPU. Maybe he picked up some bad files while doing translations or something.

The self-diagnostic came back clean. He was completely free of any harmful foreign data.

Shrugging, the boombox decided to dismiss the whole thing as a momentary glitch. He would have to schedule some time to travel back to the main base and allow Ratchet to check him over, but for now there was nothing he could do but reinforce his firewalls and move on with his day.

A day that began with meeting the Lt. Colonel at the communications tower.

The hanger doors opened with the protesting shriek of metal against metal, and Blaster winced as the noise grated on his sensitive audios. Several of the soldiers going about their daily tasks looked around in alarm, but for the most part the disruption was ignored. It was just the resident giant robot on base exiting his little hovel, nothing to see here, move along. Blaster couldn't help but pout a little at the lack of attention. The expression was quickly wiped away and replaced with something a little more fitting with his usual jovial personality as he turned his attention inward and began searching the Earth radio stations for something to play. He wasn't about to let a little brush-off ruffle him, even if was a regular occurrence on this base.

"_- everything I had to know  
>I heard it on my radio<br>You gave them all those old time stars  
>Through wars of worlds-" <em>

A smile spread over his face and he began bobbing his head a little to the beat as he fully exited the hanger. A few of the soldiers frowned in disapproval, but he ignored them. He had been catching flak from his fellow Autobots for years about playing his music, and it had never stopped him before. At least he had learned to tone the volume down a little for the human's sake as they couldn't dial down the sensitivity of their audios.

The communications tower was located on the far side of the base, a bit away from the other buildings to minimize signal interference. Blaster was too large to fit in the tower proper, but there was a small outbuilding that housed equipment large enough for him to use. Abernathy was waiting outside the of that building, and his permanent scowl deepened at Blaster's approach.

"What's the matter, Abernathy? Don't like Queen?" the mech greeted cheerily.

"It's Lt. Colonel," the man replied instantly, turning to enter the outbuilding. "Now shut off that racket and follow me. We have a visitor and you're wasting time."

Blaster sighed as he complied with the officer's orders. Just like always, no one appreciated his music. Oh well, maybe the visitor would prove to be interesting.

The outbuilding was dimly lit, partially to conserve energy and partially to minimize electronic interference with signal transmitting. Blaster didn't mind; bright lights hurt his optics anyway. There were a few desks against one wall that humans working in communications used if they needed to be near the equipment. Blaster's equipment was against the opposite wall, along with a chest-high (on him) platform for humans to use if they didn't feel comfortable standing around his feet. Abernathy was already waiting on that platform, apparently talking with the visitor. And the visitor was...

Blaster felt his jaw drop, but he really didn't care. Standing there, just chillin' out, was none other than _Soundwave_

"Ah, you're here," Abernathy said, turning to face the still-gaping Autobot. "I am aware that you're having difficulties in decoding the E-18 signal, so I asked headquarters to send over someone to help. This is-"

"Soundwave. Yeah man, I know," Blaster interrupted. There was something almost like relief curling around his spark at the sight of the other Cybertronian, even if it was a former enemy. "Yo 'Wave, what's up man? I haven't seen you in like forever!"

"Blaster. Good to see you as well," the Decepticon responded. The familiar flat voice was almost like music to Blaster's audios.

"Still rockin' the monotone I see," he commented. He knew he was grinning like an idiot now, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Affirmative."

Abernathy was looking between the two robots, a look of confusion replacing his normal scowl. "You know one another?"

"Of course," Blaster replied. "'Wave and I go way back. He's one of the best communication's officers I've ever dealt with. If anyone can decode that signal it's him." Soundwave made a little coughing noise, and Blaster smirked. 'Wave never was very good at accepting praise. Abernathy looked less than thrilled, but he simply shrugged.

"As long as the two of you can work together I don't care how how long you've known one another."

"Great! C'mon 'Wave, I'll take you on a tour of the base." Soundwave stared at Blaster's offered hand for a moment before taking it and allowing himself to be dragged out of the outbuilding. Sure, they probably needed to start working on the E-18 signal, but it could wait a few minutes for a quick tour. And it would irritate Abernathy, something that was always a plus.

"So when'd you get here? And how long are you staying?" the Autobot asked as they meandered back towards the main complex. Out of the corner of his optic he could see soldiers stopping in whatever they were doing and staring at them, or more specifically at their guest. Some part of him was irritated by the attention Soundwave was attracting; as if the base staff had never seen a Transformer before. As if the past two years didn't matter and there was a mech on base for the first time. The rest of him shoved those feelings aside. There was no reason to be jealous of Soundwave, and it _was_ the first time many of the soldiers has seen two Cybertronians at once. He should just enjoy the other's company while it lasted.

Soundwave didn't seem to notice the extra attention he was receiving as the two approached the barracks and Blaster pointed them out as such. "I arrived only a few hours ago, and will be staying for approximately three weeks or until the signal is decoded. After that I will most likely be reassigned to Cybertron again to help with the rebuilding."

Something in Blaster's spark seemed to constrict a little at hearing that, but he forced his expression to remain cheerful. "They've got ya hoppin' all over the place, huh? And how are your cassettes doin'? I'm assuming they didn't come with, otherwise I would have seen 'em running around." The soldiers outside of the mess hall watched as the two walked past, headed for the next landmark.

"Ravage is here with me. Rumble and Frenzy are helping Starscream on Cybertron, while Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw are stationed in New York," Soundwave said, and Blaster chuckled a little.

"I almost feel bad for Starscream being stuck with those two terrors," he said. Soundwave nodded in agreement, also amused by the thought of the trouble his creations might be giving the former Air Commander. The weapon's range was nearby, and the pair could hear the humans practicing with their firearms. The Decepticon turned to look at his companion.

"And how are you doing? I was told that you are the only Autobot stationed at this base," he asked, polite curiosity coloring his usual monotone. Blaster nodded.

"I'm doin' good. Been here for about two years now. Jazz was here with me for the first couple of weeks before they needed him back in California." He laughed lightly. "It get's kinda borin' out here away from all the action, but it certainly beats being shipped all over the galaxy."

"Indeed."

The Autobot looked around, noticing that he had pointed out pretty much all the important structures on the base. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, like it wanted to turn into a pout, but he resisted the impulse. They had already wasted enough time with the tour, and as much as he'd like to irritate Abernathy further there wasn't anything else they could do to stall. It wasn't like their alt modes were suited for a leisurely drive into the nearby town. Soundwave seemed to have come to the same realization as he had already turned back towards the communications tower on the other side of the base, his helm tilted slightly in Blaster's direction.

"Shall we begin working on decoding that signal?" he asked, gesturing towards the tower. Blaster shrugged in reply, a small smile trying to work its way across his face.

"After you, my man." The blue communications officer nodded and began heading back across the base. Blaster sighed softly and lifted a foot to begin following him.

And immediately lurched to the side as his equilibrium chip glitched.

Stumbling, he was only barely able to prevent himself from ingloriously falling flat on his face. He could hear Soundwave asking him something, probably if he was alright, but the telepath's voice sounded muted and far away. In contrast his own ventilations were loud, too loud, and his cooling system whined as it suddenly came online. He was suddenly aware of how hot his armor had become, as if he was standing in the middle of a desert at midday.

With a click his vision suddenly became black and white, and then was divided into horizontal bars. He couldn't hear Soundwave at all anymore, though he assumed the mech was still talking to him. Maybe. He had certainly gotten closer.

A whine escaped the Autobot's vocalizer before he sat down heavily, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his now throbbing helm on them. His tank gave a little lurch, as if it might decide to expel its contents in the very near future, but he forcefully overrode the impulse. It would not be good for his image as a pretty cool guy if he suddenly purged all over the military base and Soundwave's feet. The burning of his armor hadn't diminished any, and his core temperature was steadily rising to meet it. Even sitting down he felt off balance and odd, as if everything was skewed to the side. He did not want to attempt standing back up.

Something touched his arm, and he jerked his head up before immediately regretting that impulse as white hot flares of pain blossomed in his processor. Soundwave was kneeling in front of him, looking as concerned as one could be in a visor and battle mask. Dimly, in black and white and divided into horizontal bars, he noticed that a few of the on base soldiers has approached the two robots, curious to see what was going on. As if having a breakdown or a glitch or whatever in front of Soundwave wasn't bad enough, now he was a _spectacle. _His lip curled a little in irritation and self-depreciation.

The roaring in his audios had died down a little, enough that he could finally hear what Soundwave was saying to him.

"-ster. Are you alright?" The concern in his voice would have been touching if it weren't for all of the _people_ standing around and staring. Feeling deeply embarrassed by all the attention – _now _they pay attention to him- he tried to shrug off Soundwave's hand and offer the other a reassuring smile, though he knew he was failing at it.

"Naw... 'm okay 'Wave..." he said, or at least tried to. Static laced his words, making it hard for the other to understand him. "Really. Jus' got a bit dizzy... " When Soundwave's expression did not change he decided that he just had to _prove_ how okay he was. Before the Decepticon could do anything Blaster had pushed his hand away, leaning forwards and beginning to get back to his feet.

There was a soft _pop! s_omewhere inside his processor, and red warnings began flashing all over his HUD a moment before his visual feed cut out completely. For a blissful second he wavered, half-standing, before suddenly crashing face first into the ground. He could hear Soundwave's startled cry from somewhere very far above him, and some of the humans shouting, but it really wasn't all that important.

A few seconds later, and he was in stasis lock.

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><p><strong>AN:** Those of you who know a little bit about G.I. Joe may recognize the name Abernathy as the real name of General Hawk. This is not him. However, if it makes you feel better, you can pretend that this is Hawk's less-successful cousin or younger brother. Whatever floats your boat.

Thank you to NamelessEradicon and Starfire202 for the reviews! (Though I'm not sure what's up with the trend of not logging in to review. Oh well)


	3. Into the Ocean

He is in the desert.

The funeral piles have long since disappeared into the distance behind him. He does not know in what direction he is traveling, and the sand underfoot shifts and moves, erasing his progress almost as soon as it is made. There is nothing to mark where he has been, where he is going. There is nothing to show that he was ever here.

The sparkling is still in his hands. Its lifeless body is heavy, and it seems to get heavier with every step. He will not, cannot put it down. Cannot allow it to sink into the sands without a trace. It, at least, deserves to exist in this place that does not. It cannot disappear.

The sun is swollen and heavy, unforgiving. It stares down at him, judging him as he continues to place one foot in front of the other and the sand covers up where he has been. The heat is unbearable, beating down from above and rising up from below. His fans shriek as they run past their limits, the air being pulled into his frame only driving his internal temperature higher. His coolant pump has already stuttered once or twice. If it stops again, he will die.

He stumbles, one foot catching on the sands that swirl around and try to drag him down into the earth. The grains are slippery and as hot as molten glass, and they make a soft whispering sound as they move against his plating. He falls to one knee, panting in a last desperate attempt to cool his body as the sands whisper around him, singing gentle songs to rest, rest now, and let the desert erase him from the world.

It takes a monumental effort to get back to his feet, and he almost lacks the strength to do it. But the pull on his spark is insistent and he must answer it. He is afraid to deny it. The sparkling in his hands is a heavy burden, and he must be careful not to drop it. He is afraid of that as well.

He does not know where he is going. There is nothing in this desert, nothing to mark any sort of destination. The sky meets the ground in a hard white line that is both too close and too far away, and he feels as if he might be able to touch the horizon. One hand is lifted and reaches for that line, but it remains just out of his grasp and soon he gives up.

The dead are far behind him, and he is alone with the sun and the sand and the sparkling.

He stumbles again, and he cannot tell if it is because his foot did not clear the sands or if the sands reached up to grab his foot. For a moment he is neither falling nor standing, and he thinks that it would be fine if he just stayed like this. Between motions, where the sun is not as hot and the sparkling is not as heavy. If he could just stay here, forever, things would be fine.

And then the moment is over, and he crashes to the ground. A fine spray of sand is knocked into the air, and the grains tinkle and chime as they brush against one another. The desert is laughing at him, mocking him, and even the hot swollen sun seems to burn a little brighter in mirth. His coolant pump stutters again.

The desert will kill him.

Already the sand has covered his legs. He cannot feel them, only the scratch and whisper of the molten glass sand as it greedily eats at his plating. The hand he uses to push himself up is consumed before his very eyes, and he lacks the strength to pull it free of the desert's gentle grasp. His other arm is useless, occupied with keeping the sparkling clutched tight to his chest. Even now, he fears what may happen if he loses its tiny body. The sand has reached up to his waist.

He tries to free himself, desperately flailing the legs and and arm he can no longer feel, fighting the inevitable with the strength he does not have and pays dearly to use. The sand is pulled into the vents that will not close and burns his internals, clogging essential equipment as it circulates through his body. The sand is up to his chest, and he can no longer see the sparkling.

He is panting again, trying to force the scorching air to cool his burning scratching sand-filled internals. The sand is making its way into his mouth and he chokes as it travels down his intake and mixes with the Energon left in his tank. His systems are shutting down one by one as the molten glass sand pours into the vents that will not close and down his throat with every cough and scratches and scrapes and clogs his internals. He can no longer feel his body, and the sand is up to his chin.

The desert will kill him.

Overhead he can still see the sun, an angry eye that passively watches as the desert consumes him, and for a moment he wants to yell at it. Demand and plead that it help him, that _someone_ help him, before the sands cover him entirely and he disappears from this world. The tug on his spark is more insistent than it has ever been, and he knows that he will fail his mission.

The sun is not moved by his pleas. The sand is up to his eyes.

He is alone in this place that does not exist. The dead are here, and the sand that covers his head, and the hot angry sun above. He cannot tell if the sparkling he once carried is hot or cold, and it is gone. The funeral piles are far behind him, and the sky meets the horizon in a hard white line that is too close to touch and too far to reach.

The sands shift and move, and the last of his footprints are lost. There is no trace that he ever existed.

The desert will kill him.

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><p>Thank you to Phoenix51, Dragon of Diamonds, janit3443, Starfire201, NamelessEradicon, Acidgreenflames, and TwinsFan for reviewing!<p> 


	4. Worried About Ray

He couldn't see anything.

Dimly, softly, in the back of his mind, Blaster couldn't help but be amused by his own observation. Of course he couldn't see anything. His optics were off. If he wanted to see anything he'd have to turn them back on. Unless they were broken, in which case it didn't matter if he turned them on or not. He wouldn't be able to see anything anyway, and he'd just stay in the dark. Like now.

He didn't mind being in the dark right now. It was quiet, comfortable. No one was yelling at him to get up, to decode signals, to obey someone else's agenda with no regard for his own. He was cold, but not to the point it was uncomfortable.

He wondered what had happened. He didn't remember going into recharge, and though he couldn't access his chronometer at the moment he was pretty sure that Abernathy had woken him up not too long ago. He wasn't sure why. Usually the Lieutenant Colonel left him alone, unless there was something urgent that needed his attention. And considering that communications and signal decoding wasn't really action heavy, there shouldn't have been any emergencies.

Unless they had a guest. Was there a guest? Now that he thought about it, Abernathy had wanted him to meet _someone_...

Blaster's already sluggish thoughts ground to a screeching halt as his recent memory files finally sorted themselves out. With a groan the communications officer clapped a hand over his face in embarrassment.

He had glitched. In the middle of the base. In front of _Soundwave_. No one was ever going to take him seriously ever again.

The socially crippling aspect aside, the fact that he had taken a public dirt nap in the first place was worrisome. He didn't have at glitch, or at least not one that would cause him to lock up like that. Immediately his self-diagnostic systems were scanning his CPU and processor, looking deeper than they had earlier for any trace of harmful data. If he was infected with some sort of virus he would need to know soon, preferably before snacking on any more concrete. In public.

While his self-diagnostic was working, he probably needed to get up and do some damage control before his reputation became too tarnished. With a sigh he dropped his hand from his face and finally turned his optics on.

And found himself staring into a pair of glowing red eyes.

It took all of his considerable self control not to scream and flail like a human femme discovering a rather large spider on her shirt. Instead he settled for just flinching and staring back until his recharge-addled processor could make out the metallic feline face around the eyes. His frame relaxed, and he even managed a crooked smile towards the cassette currently perching on his chestplate.

"Heya Ravage. What's up?"

The panther looked less than impressed. "Is that the _only_ greeting you have?" he rasped, blinking once in the slow way cats did to express their disapproval of something. Blaster shrugged slightly.

"Maybe. Mind gettin' off me now?" For a moment it looked as though Ravage might decide that he was not ready to give up his glorious perch on the Autobot's chest, and Blaster was trying to figure out just how he was going to remove the panther without losing a limb or upsetting Soundwave. However, after a little deliberation the Decepticon gracefully jumped to the floor, allowing Blaster to sit upright.

He was in his quarters, or at least the barren aircraft hanger that he slept and ate in. Which meant that someone -not someone, _Soundwave_- had carted his unconscious ass back across the base. In full view of everyone. Blaster was surprised to note that some of his armor had been stripped off, possibly in an attempt to cool overheating circuits. He also noticed that his face hurt. A _lot. _He gingerly reached up and touched his olfactory sensor.

Forget doing a face plant. This was a whole face _tree_.

"Oh quit being a femme. There's not even a dent," Ravage said from his new position on the floor, squinting up at the larger 'bot. Blaster frowned and dropped his hand as the panther continued. "Personally I'd be more concerned with what happened to you earlier."

"An' what did happen to me?"

The look Ravage gave him could not have been flatter if it were stepped on by Omega Supreme. "You passed out."

Blaster ground his denta in frustration. "Yeah, I think I remember that part." Ravage's expression did not change. "What I mean is why did I glitch in the first place?"

"Why are you asking me? _You're _the one who passed out,"the cassette responded, stressing the words as if talking to a very small sparkling. The idea of kicking the Decepticon across the aircraft hanger was starting to look more and more appealing.

Ravage's sudden interest in the hanger door was the only warning Blaster got before a loud squeal interrupted any more cassette-related fantasies. Someone - not someone, _Soundwave_- was coming in to check on him, slowly forcing the rusty metal door open in a manner not unlike a horror movie. There would be a lot of questions as to the _why's_ and _how's_ about a glitch that he wasn't even sure he had.

The corner of his mouth twitched in what could almost be called a smile if there were any positive feelings behind it. Soundwave was coming in to check on him and he was sitting on his berth half naked after glitching in public. He could get no lower.

Oh no wait, he could. Soundwave had Abernathy with him.

"Well well, it looks like Sleeping Beauty finally woke up!" Blaster's grin wasn't exactly friendly, but neither was Abernathy's comment. "I hope that this won't become a regular occurrence," the Lt. Colonel intoned, his face serious. It wasn't a question.

"Naw man, I'm fine. Jus' a small glitch, you know?" the Autobot replied, doing his best impression of being nonchalant. Abernathy did not look reassured, but he nodded and turned, marching sharply out of the hanger and leaving the robots to themselves. Blaster's friendly expression settled out into something a little closer to a pout. He could have at least _pretended_ to care.

"Are you really alright?" Soundwave asked after the human had left. The concern in his voice was obvious, and it made the earlier incident all the more embarrassing. It also made maintaining a cheerful and reassuring appearance more difficult. Still, it wasn't anything Blaster couldn't handle, and a winning smile was back across his face in less than a click.

"I promise that I'm _fine_, 'Wave. It was just a glitch. Shouldn't happen again." The Autobot began looking around his spartan quarters, desperate to change the topic and doing his best not to show it. "You seen my armor around here anywhere?"

He heard a soft snort from Ravage, and had to resist flinching. If the panther had seen through his poor excuse for a diversion he _knew_ Soundwave wasn't fooled. It wasn't just an excuse, though. While he did trust the two Decepticons at least as far as he could throw them, years of habit said that running around inadequately armored on an active military base with two _**Decepticons**_ nearby was a surefire recipe for death casserole. He felt vulnerable and unprotected, like an Insecticon on its back just waiting for someone to poke its soft squishy bits with a sharp implement. Soundwave, at least, seemed willing to humor him as he collected and returned the discarded armor without comment.

"So what were you and Abernathy up to while I was out?" Blaster asked, beginning to replace the armor over exposed components and circuitry. He noticed a few wires that had burned out or melted, but it was minor damage that his self repair could take care of. Nothing to get a medic involved over. Soundwave shrugged and leaned against a nearby wall.

"Work. He wanted me to take a look at the E-18 signal. I will admit that I have never seen anything quite like it before," the Decepticon said. Blaster's grin was a bit more genuine this time.

"Mech, ain't _nobody_ seen a signal like that before. That's why they called you in to help." Soundwave ducked his head a little at Blaster's comment. So modest.

"While that may be so, I believe we may make progress if we compare it to the transmissions received four years ago," the Decepticon continued. "It shares a few key frequencies, and seems to be a logical starting point."

Blaster chuckled. "Personally I think it's ol' Shockie out there messin' with us. Sending us encrypted messages telling us we're all slaggers. But we can try it your way." All of his armor had be reattached, and he was good to go. Without allowing himself time to think about what he was doing he stood up.

Soundwave made a sound in protest and one white hand reached out to catch the Autobot if necessary. Truthfully, though he was mortified by the other's action, Blaster couldn't help but be the slightest bit grateful. He wasn't sure if being upright would cause another episode, and he really wasn't interested in meeting the ground twice in the same day.

He needn't have worried. There was a little lingering fuzziness in his processor , but that wasn't anything a ration of energon couldn't clear up. His self-repair had already taken care of his aching face. And the best news came from his diagnostic systems as they finished combing through his programming and CPU.

He was one hundred percent okay. No harmful foreign data, no viruses picked up from decoding.

Blaster's smile was almost completely honest as he looked over at the Decepticons, flipping them a cheerful thumbs-up. "Good as new. Now let's go see about decoding some signals."

"Are you _sure_ that you are alright?" Soundwave asked again, earning a derisive snort from the cassette still lounging on the floor. The concern in his monotonic voice was deserving of Blaster's best reassuring grin.

"Mech, I am _fine_."

He hoped.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I apologize for how long this chapter has taken. Everything from the title to how to begin was a bit of a struggle. It also suffers a little for formerly being part of chapter 5. There is slightly too little information for separate chapters, but far two much for just one. So this one ended up a bit short.

I also regret to inform you that the next chapter will not be posted until around the 23rd. There is a convention that I will be attending on the 16th through the 18th, and pretty much all of my free time will be going towards making stuff to sell and school. On the bright side, chapter 5 is where we finally get some answers.

Thank you to Kalieeyp, Acidgreenflames, Phoenix51, and Starfire201 for reviewing!


	5. Strawberry Fields Forever

The room was spinning. Whirling, twisting, it flowed and moved to a rhythm and pattern only Primus was privy too. He had been trying for the past few minutes to find some order to the motion, a sense of time and a beat, but all he was found was a beautiful discord. It was hypnotic and nauseous, and completely pointless. A wondrous metaphor for life.

Blaster stifled a giggle, and the room spun around again.

Out of the corner of one hazy optic he saw what might probably be Soundwave shift slightly, disturbed by the laugh but refraining from action. Waiting until Blaster either fell into recharge or broke out into hysterics most likely, or waiting until Abernathy reappeared with something _Blaster's work it was supposed to be his work_ for Soundwave to do and the shifting was coincidental.

It wasn't, not really. He was being unfair again.

Before, yesterday, last week, he had overheard Soundwave talking to Abernathy. The human had wanted to get rid of him. Said he was useless, couldn't pull his weight and needed to be booted off-base. He had reasoned that as the Decepticon was a communications officer as well, he could take over Blaster's duties with minimal interruptions to the workflow. That in his current state the Autobot was all but useless.

Blaster was surprised when Soundwave refused. Honestly, the horrid little human had had a point. He was useless like this. He couldn't even sit upright without falling off his narrow hard berth or purging his tanks. It was humiliating and embarrassing and pathetic.

Just like him.

Another half laugh escaped him, this time doing a decent impression of a sob.

Suddenly, laying down wasn't that comfortable anymore. Unsurprising, really. He'd been stuck on the hard berth for so long it was probably warping what little armor he still wore. He felt restless, and the fact that he was likely to either purge or pass out again as soon as he started moving only served to emphasize the restlessness and helplessness.

Another shift in the room, and his head cleared slightly as his equilibrium chip stopped glitching.

His optics were closed, but he knew Soundwave had started at the sound of his voice. Who wouldn't, after hearing his normally melodious voice in such a horrible state? Hours of purging tended to damage a mech's vocalizer, and it wasn't like there was a medic on base to fix it. Even if Soundwave had been trying to play nurse for him.

"Enough."

Soundwave stopped, staring at him with obvious surprise behind his normally impenetrable visor, and if the situation was different Blaster would have laughed. He couldn't, though. He was too tired. Too drained and worn out.

"Just... jus' stop, 'Wave. It's alright." He sighed and rubbed his optics with one hand. His processor was spinning, and for a moment he was afraid that he would purge again, choking up the gritty remains of Energon in his tank. "I know what's up, an' you do too. Jus' stop."

Soundwave, however, was not quite ready to stop arguing the point. "But... what if we called Ratchet? Wouldn't it be best to get the opinion of-"

"Ratch ain't coming."

Again, the visor and face mask did nothing to hide the telepath's expression. Too many years on opposite sides of the battlefield had keyed the Autobot into his counterpart's body language, and what he was telegraphing now was confusion. Confusion, and just a bit of fear.

"How can you be so sure?" His voice, of course, gave nothing of his mental state away. Blaster had to hand him that.

The Autobot sighed, dropping his aching burning helm into his hands and curling up a little. Some part of him wanted to fight it. To laugh off his previous comment and pull the mask back on to continue the show. To allow Soundwave to contact base and here the story from _them_ over a private channel where he couldn't hear it. Didn't have to face it.

He was so slagging _tired_.

"'Wave... ever wonder why I got put on this base? All by m'self. Not another 'bot for a hundred miles." He didn't raise his helm, preferring the sight of the filthy scuffed concrete floor to his companion's contemplative face. For a moment the only sound was the steady hum of Soundwave's systems and the somewhat strained whine of his own.

"Because this base is an important military installment for the interception and decoding of interstellar signals in an effort to prevent the events of four years ago from repeating," the Decepticon answered finally. "It only makes sense that a trusted Autobot officer would be assigned to this post." Despite himself, the corner of Blaster's mouth twitched up into a smirk. Trust Soundwave to happen upon the most logical answer.

Logical, but wrong.

"'Wave, they sent me out here so they didn't have to deal with me anymore."

Soundwave's reaction was predictably surprised, and tinged all over with disbelief. "Blaster. I find that hard to believe. You are a valuable Autobot officer. I do not think they would just _discard_ you."

Another laugh that sounded more and more like a sob, and he didn't lift his head.

"I meant what I said before, yanno. Jazz was here for the first couple of weeks, an' then he left. Since then, I haven't seen plating nor pede of another Cybertronian until you showed up. An' you ain't even here for a visit. You're here for _work_." The grimy floor swam in and out of focus. "An' you're gonna leave too."

"Surely if you were feeling lonely you could have requested that another Autobot be transferred to this base?" the Decepticon asked, and Blaster felt him scoot slightly closer. He was _worried_, maybe, probably. It was touching.

Too little. Too late.

"Ya don't think I tried, mech?" He finally pulled his face out of his hands long enough to focus one bleary optic on Soundwave. "Every time it was the same response. _Request denied. Request denied. Sorry, we can't spare the manpower. I know you miss everyone, but what you're doing is important and you can't transfer_." He snorted. "I think Prowl eventually blocked my comm signal. I haven't heard anything more than official reports for nearly a year now.

"Face it 'Wave. If Command dumped me off out here, there's no point in askin' them for help. They won't answer."

There was silence after that, and Blaster could hear his cooling fans working overtime in it. The room was spinning and whirling, and he was so _tired_ and all he wanted to do was just recharge.

He felt Soundwave get up from the berth, and he resisted the urge to sigh as the mech's footsteps echoed through the hanger as he left. Well, it was inevitable. After all, Soundwave was always a logical 'bot, and if the Autobot command had washed their hands of Blaster, well, it made sense Soundwave would as well. A communications officer that wasn't important to the 'Bots definitely wasn't going to be of any use to the 'Cons. He was probably reporting to Starscream at the moment, informing him of the soon to be vacant position of communications officer at the base.

Which hurt. A lot.

Some part of him, the selfish twisted little knot at the bottom of his spark, had hoped Soundwave would stay. Hoped the mech wouldn't just walk out and leave him to suffer on his own, melting from the inside out as his core temperature climbed and his mechanisms shorted out one by one. That at least one person would have ignored the mask and the dance and the words to befriend or at least take an interest in the mech behind the curtain.

Well. Not like he hadn't brought it on himself.

Something bumped against his hand.

It took him a long moment to reboot his optics, the filthy grey floor coming into grainy focus. Finding the energy or motivation to look up took even longer, but he finally lifted his head in time to have an Energon cube shoved against his chest. He grabbed it out of reflex, then looked up at an obviously irritated Soundwave.

"'Wave-"

"Refuel." The telepath's usual monotone was straining with thinly veiled emotion, though what it was Blaster couldn't say. "You have been unable to keep down any of your rations, and your energy levels are far too low."

The Autobot looked back and forth between the cube and Soundwave, aching processor struggling to comprehend what was going on. The Decepticon must have gotten tired of his confusion, because he sighed and shook his helm in what was obviously exhasperation before plopping down onto the berth as well. Blaster didn't have to spark to point out how Starscream-like the action had been. It probably would have gotten his cube taken away.

"_Refuel_, Blaster. Obviously your low energy levels are causing you to act abnormally melodramatic." Blaster spluttered, some of the Energon sloshing out of the cube as he rounded on his companion.

"Melo-! Mech, have you not been listenin' to me?!" He let out a short cough as the shout irritated his already raw throat, but was too angry to stop. "They _abandoned_ me, 'Wave. Dumped me off on some tiny base to be ignored for two years. I think I've got a right to be upset about it!"

Soundwave's visor flashed, a clear indication of a glare. "And _I_ repeat that you are acting overly emotional about an illogical conclusion."

Illogical! Overly emotional! Blaster's lips pressed together in a thin line, and he briefly considered throwing his cube of Energon at the Decepticon. Give him something to be emotional about. Some of that must have come through on his face, because Soundwave suddenly sighed and settled back.

"Blaster, I am not trying to disregard your feelings on this." He paused as the Autobot snorted in disbelief. "I just do not find it logical that the Autobots would deliberately rid themselves of their communications officer. Despite the fact that we are no longer engaged in a long-term war, your services are still useful, and therefore it does not make sense to have you purposefully alienated from the main forces."

Blaster opened his mouth, then closed it again, face scrunching up as he honestly considered the telepath's words. He had to admit, in the cold light of logic his argument really didn't make much sense. "I don't get it, though. If I'm still useful, why hasn't there been any contact with base outside of work-related things?"

Soundwave shook his helm. "Unknown. However, I advise that for the moment we focus on solving the immediate problem of your condition before we begin interrogating your comrades."

Blaster snorted in amusement, wincing when it hurt his throat but taking a swig from the cube anyway. The influx of Energon felt good, really good, and he hoped that he might be able to keep some of it down this time. Purging was not fun, ever.

"Now then. If we cannot expect aid from the Autobots, and you are certain that we wil not-" Soundwave began, giving Blaster a pointed look that he avoided by taking another sip from his cube, "-then we will have to sort this out ourselves." Reaching into his subspace, he pulled out a very familiar looking datapad. Blaster groaned.

"C'mon, mech. You've scanned me with that thing about a million times now. All it ever tells you is what's broken, not how to fix it." The look he received was his companion's only response, and he sighed as he obediently stuck out one arm. Hooking the datapad into the medical port at his wrist took only a moment, and Soundwave began scan one million and one.

Blaster sighed, looking around the room for something to distract him from the unsettling feeling of the datapad's diagnostic program crawling through his systems. There was a stain on the floor that looked kind of like Abernathy's head if it were squished out of shape. In the corner were some scratches that _almost _spelled out one of the Cybertronian vowels. "Ya think it might be the E-18 signal messin' with me?"

"Highly unlikely," was the immediate response, the Decepticon not even looking up from the datapad. "While the signal is indeed uniquely formatted, there is no indication that it can interfere with a mech's function. Besides, Ravage and myself are functioning normally, and we have been exposed to the signal nearly as long as you have." His visor suddenly flashed in a way that Blaster had long since learned meant a frown, and he resisted the urge to scoot away slightly. "Your processor is showing an almost dangerous amount of fragmentation. When was the last time you had a proper recharge?"

In his mind, he plead the fifth.

Not like it mattered, really, considering Soundwave was freaking _telepathic_.

"It's... it's nothin' man. Jus' bad fluxes. Well, _a_ bad flux," he replied. Out of the corner of his optic he could see Soundwave staring at him intently.

"Blaster. Reoccurring fluxes can be an indication of any number of things, most of them involving some sort of damage to the processor. Why did you not tell me sooner?"

He ducked his head, unconsciously trying to make himself appear smaller. "'cos it's jus' a flux. Used to get 'em all the time durin' the war. I didn't think it was anythin' to worry about."

"And is this flux anything like the ones you experienced during the war?" Soundwave asked, his usual monotone oddly gentle.

Blaster sighed. Couldn't keep anything from a telepath, could you? "No. It's nothin' like those."

Soundwave hummed in contemplation. He unplugged the practically useless scanner from Blaster's arm, but caught hold of his wrist before he could pull it away. "Show me."

"What." It wasn't a question, more a general sound for his vocalizer to produce while his addled and lightly fried processor could puzzle out the other's statement. "Show you.. my flux?" A nod. "You can do that?"

The Decepticon chuckled slightly, releasing Blaster's wrist to extract a data transfer cable from his own arm. "Yes. Though a medical uplink, I can experience the flux with you and hopefully trace it back to its source. An inefficient method to be sure, but as I am not a trained medic it is the best I can offer."

"Mm." Blaster watched him for a moment, considering his options. So hard to do when your processor felt like it was full of red hot bits of slag, an apparently accurate description if the little useless scanner was to be trusted. Allowing another mech to jack into his systems was a serious display of trust, and not one he was sure he wanted to commit to. On the other servo, if he didn't do something soon a one-way trip to the Well was looking more and more likely. "You ever done this before?"

"Negative."

He laughed, only a bark but it felt so much better even as his HUD flashed a half-dozen new warnings at him. Even Soundwave was smiling a little as he plugged into the medical port.

There was a shift. A twist. A sickening lurch.

And then nothing at all.

* * *

><p>AN: March 23rd, May 23rd... close enough, right? Well, yeah, not really. Sorry. After the con I fell out of the habit of writing, and it's been a struggle to get back into it.

I based Blaster's perception of the Autobot's opinion of him off of the episodes "Blaster Blues" and "Quest for Survival". Seriously, Prime is a jerk to the poor guy.


	6. On Melancholy Hill

He is in the desert.

The sun is hot and swollen and heavy, and its heaviness bends the hard white line of the horizon until it threatens to snap into a million pieces. The sand is as hot as molten glass and it whirls and sings and burns as it strikes his plating. There is nothing to mark where he has been or where he is going, and he is alone.

His shoulders are shaking, and he cannot tell if it is from the heat or cold or something else entirely. He cannot feel anything but the overwhelming tiredness and pain that permeates every inch of his frame. His armor is cracked and rusted, and the paint flakes off with every movement. His vents will not close, and sand burns his internals with every intake. The sparkling in his arms is heavy, so heavy, and he cannot tell if its body is hot or cold. The sand swirls and tugs and dazzles his optics until he is half-blind.

He is afraid.

The desert has already poured itself down his intake, clogging his internals with the searing blistering sand. His vents will not close and his insides are poisoned with the molten glass that burns and bites with every motion. The sun has forced him down, writhing as his coolant pump fails and his mechanisms melt from the heat. His plating aches and the pump stutters every so often. It has happened, should happen, may happen.

It did not happen.

A broken sound forces its way out of his raw and abused throat, and the shaking worsens. He is alone here. There is only the angry sun and the burning sand and the too-heavy sparkling, and he is alone. The only living thing in this place that does not exist, and he is not even sure if he is still alive. Too much time spent alone in the place that does exist has worn him down and he has nothing left. He is _alone_, and that hurts far more than the sand and sun and dead sparkling.

Something touches his arm, and it takes him too long to realize that it isn't part of the desert.

He twists away, fear spiking into sharp panic, and the movement causes him to stumble and nearly fall. The something touching his arm _its a hand he can see that now_ shifts and holds him steady before the sand can drag him down. It takes a long time for him to regain his balance, too long, and it takes even longer for his mind to realize that he is no longer in danger of falling. The hand that hold him steady is patient, and when he is able to he follows it to the arm and the body attached to both.

He is no longer alone.

One corner of his mouth twitches up into the thin imitation of a smile, and he can feel the thin dermal plating tear slightly. He wants to hug and cheer and dance around in joy, but all he can offer the other is a slight upturn of the lips. And it is enough.

The other stares at the sparkling in his arms, but holds up a hand in refusal when he offers it. He understands. It is his burden, and only he can carry it.

The tug on his spark is starting again, that invisible pull deeper into the desert. Without realizing he takes a step forward, and then another, and the other is still by his side. The thin half-smile doesn't waver, even as the sands shriek in anger and strike his plating with renewed vigor. The sun is still swollen, still heavy, but it remains in the pale sky where it belongs.

There is something in the distance.

It takes his sun blind optics several moments to focus on the shape, and even then the image is over exposed and blurry. For a moment he fears that he has walked in a circle, and what squats on the horizon are the tall and rusted funeral piles. His steps falter, and the sands tug a little harder. He cannot return to the funeral mounds, not yet, not ever.

The other is still by his side, and that gives him a little comfort.

As they draw closer he can see that it is something larger than the funeral piles, a dark smudge against the hard horizon that seems to stretch up into the sky. Distances are tricky in the desert, even without being sun-blind, and it is even longer before he can recognize the hill for what it is. Its sides are slick and steep, and glisten like glass or some nameless liquid. He cannot stare at it for too long without his processor hurting even more. There is something perched on the top of the hill, but it is too far away to see clearly.

He and the other take the time to walk the circumference of the hill, seeking an easier passage to the top. The hill is featureless on all sides, not quite smooth and flat, but with irregular grooves worn into it by the wind and stinging sand. The grooves are big enough for his fingers to almost fit into, but it will be a difficult climb, and he is exhausted. The shaking that never quite stopped is getting stronger, and he jumps when the other places a hand on his shoulder.

He wasn't alone. He could do this.

The glass hill is hot to the touch, hotter than the sand that digs into his joints and servos. He can feel the delicate metal in his hands threatening to melt. The climb is awkward, as he needs one hand to hold the sparkling, and more than once his pedes slip out of the slick grooves and his plating acquires even more scrapes and dents. The other is below him, and he tries to remember that falling will hurt them both. He tries not to slip again.

It seems like forever, but eventually there are no more grooves to seek, no more handholds to wedge his hand into. He has reached the top of the glass hill. The desert is all around him, stretching out much further than his tired optics can see, and the sand still sings and shrieks as it whirls around the hill. In the center of the hill is a crystal, as glass-clear as the hill, reaching up into the hard pale sky and piercing the the sun. Dark, pod-like structures are clustered around its base.

He hesitates for a moment, waiting until the other has managed to crest the hill as well, before cautiously approaching the crystal and its pods. The too-heavy sparkling in his hands is glowing, maybe, or perhaps his optics are shorting out and it is a trick of the harsh desert light. One of the dark pods opens as he approaches, and he places the sparkling's body inside of it. He then retreats, to stand beside the other and to wait.

There is a low hum, a sound that he just now recognizes but something that may have been going on since they reached the glass hill. The sparkling's pod closes, and the hum grows stronger as it and the other pods begin to hover. One by one they are absorbed by the crystal, dark smudges easily seen through its clear surface. He tracks the smudges as they rise through the crystal, pulled along into the sky.

The humming does not cease after the smudges are gone. It rattles his battered plating, intensifying every second but somehow still not quite audible. The crystal and the hill are glowing now, faintly, but becoming stronger with the sound.

He looks to the side, and the other is still standing with him.

The hum reaches it's peak, and the crystal and the hill flash.

Light.

And then.

Nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well. Is this a good time to confess that 'Mad World' began as a flashfic idea, and at the time this chapter sounded like a good idea?

If you guys would like to see what delayed this chapter for so long, check out** thedemonsurfer .deviantart .com (slash) art/ Godfall-Chapter-One-The-King-s-Return-313296528 **(remove the spaces and add the slash). I did manage to get into said tournament, so yay me. This means that the last chapter probably won't be finished until after the end of the first round, however. If it does get posted within a month, you know that means I am procrastinating on my comic.

Please excuse any typos you may find. My beta is asleep, and will look over this after she wakes up.

Thank you to Field Empathy, B-Bellisthename, Acidgreenflames, Starfire201, N4uGHT, reka1207, Phoenix51, Richard'sQueen aka LGFS, Kaileeyp, Vigatus, and Sounddrive for reviewing! Only one more to go!


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